


as ever we are unprepared

by templemarker



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/620860959930904576">TLF Travel Alerts</a> @TlfTravelAlerts<br/>Mind the gap between your beleaguered expectations and the awful reality that torments us all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as ever we are unprepared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beth Winter (BethWinter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethWinter/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Beth Winter! This was a pleasure to write. And yes, you read that fandom tag correctly...

[TLF Travel Alerts](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/678852181550882816) @TlfTravelAlerts  
 _Well, you know what? The Northern line doesn't like you either._

}-{

Ever since returning from the country, London transportation had turned its back on him. This was the fourth time the Tube had stopped his train on the tracks. The shortest time was five minutes; today, the District was bordering on twenty-five. And of course, no mobile reception. 

Peter had accepted many new things over the last four years, from monsters that should rightfully have stayed under the beds where they belonged to the re-emergence of a Dark Lord straight out of bloody Harry Potter. But even he resisted the notion that the Tube had some kind of sentience. Surely not, yeah? It was trains, and track, and terrible but lovable scratchy fabrics. Not a sentient being who took offence at ostensibly London wizards who briefly left the city for Very Important police wizarding business. 

And yet it felt as though the lights over the door were blinking, pointedly, at him. The train was stuck just before King's Cross, not actually at the platform but in the tunnel before it. He only needed to get to Charing Cross and desperately ran alternate routes to get there--not that it mattered, because couldn't even alight from the train atthis point. 

Something buzzed in his pocket, and thinking it was his mobile--and quite surprised it was working--he pulled it out. But the buzzing continued. He dug again into his pocket, and was only mildlyalarmed to find that it was his notebook, the slightly battered A6 Muji he picked up in packets of five whenever he happened across one. Glancing around, no one was bothering to look at him. The passengers had a general air of resigned expectation, and all eyes were on phones, books, or flimsy copies of the Metro daily. 

Peter flipped over the cover, and, seeing that the first few pages still held his notes from an earlier interview and a shopping list for when he was next ordering from the grocer's, he kept going until he came to a blank page. Well, blank except for the scrolling cursive of Nightingale's ancient handwriting, slowly printing what appeared to be a memo.

> Peter: please attend to the Folly immediately. The documents you requested from the Central Archives have arrived; I have discovered another lead, a young woman in Wimbledon who was once married to the victim; and Mary has prepared an orange glazed roast goose for supper and is quite insistent upon your presence. 
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Thomas Nightingale 

Well, that was some proper Marauder's Map shit. Another idle thought of Peter's: JK Rowling was in fact a wizard or relative of a gossipy wizard and Harry Potter was actually a way to describe magic inside of a story for children. Truly, stranger things had happened. The train suddenly jolted, and Peter grasped tightly onto the hand loop. He looked up; the light above the door seemed to glow stronger for a moment before calming down. He decided that he needed to sort out some kind of sacrifice to the Tube before he next set foot on it. Perhaps cheap beer, a busker's homemade cd, and a ritually blessed Oyster card would do it. 

}-{

[TLF Travel Alerts](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/662692568887656449) @TlfTravelAlerts  
 _We erased a tube station from the map weeks ago, and none of you even noticed. We do loads of stuff like that. Your reality is meaningless._

}-{

Peter had just finished up a training session with Nightingale when the phone rang in the Folly. Peter looked expectantly at Nightingale, who shrugged and said, "Molly will answer, and tell me if it's important."

It was so very hard not to sputter out _How?!_ but Peter had to learn restraint the hard way. Namely, by asking many many questions and getting short, unhelpful answers or mysterious wizardy looks in silence. Shortly there was a knock at the door, and Molly stuck her head in, showing her teeth in Nightingale's direction. 

"Yes, of course," Nightingale said, "I'll be there momentarily."

Peter squinted and rubbed the side of his face. "Are we done, then, or...?"

Nightingale placed the crystal orb he'd been using to demonstrate levitation next to the tennis ball Peter was allowed to practice with, and said, "Oh, yes, though--well, you're welcome to sit in on this call. It would be helpful to know, I think, if not now than for the future."

"Know what?" is what Peter _did not say_ , instead saying "All right," and following Nightingale to his study. He chugged a Lucozade on the way and wiped his mouth with his hand, pretending not to notice Nightingale's particular look. 

Nightingale sat in the chair behind his desk, and Peter sat opposite him on the guest chair, kicking his heels up on the desk and only lowering them after Nightingale started to shove them off. Nightingale picked up the phone, which was old as hell, pressed something, and said, "Ah, Mr. Palmer. How nice to hear from the Voice of Night Vale."

A low, smooth American voice answered, "Listeners, mark this day! Today we are speaking with our friend, Mr. Thomas Nightingale, long associated with Night Vale Community Radio and this program. Good day, Mr. Thomas Nightingale. Thank you for taking our call."

"Of course, Mr. Palmer. I am always happy to provide counsel to the citizens of Night Vale, in accordance with the Treaty of the Library circa 1926."

"Ah, yes! Listeners, do not go to the library to look up the Treaty of the Library. Ask your most conveniently located member of the Sheriff's Secret Police monitoring your every word and deed. They would be happy to assist you in the historical Treaties of Night Vale, ways to fix your blender, or the forms you need to contact that special someone. From beyond the grave."

"How may I serve you today, Mr. Palmer? Do the central bloodstones require recharging? I could plan a trip to the Colonies should they need maintenance."

"No, no, the certified bloodstone factory has done an admirable job of recharging the bloodstone network. As long as they continue to consume only elk meat and iron filings, the bloodstones of Night Vale will continue their ritualistic and magical purpose! We honor their role in turning the tide of World War II to the Allied victory. As we honor you, of course."

"Oh, Mr. Palmer, no need to discuss that once more. I was interviewed thoroughly for the oral history performed by the head of your lovely young militia. I believe her name was Tamika?"

"We are not currently allowed to speak the name of any child militia members that may exist nor what freedom-fighting actions they may be doing. But, to the reason for our call: the City Councilhas recently been in negotiations with the School Board regarding the potential replacement of the plasma fountain in front of the high school. As you know, it is mandatory for students over the age of fourteen to donate plasma every three weeks in order to keep the fountain in operation. The City Council is suggesting it be retrofitted to operate on blood, saving valuable tax dollars in centrifuge maintenance and operation for plasma extraction. The president of the school board, Glow Cloud, is adamant that the fountain continue to operate on plasma, and in a statement, said: 'THERE SHALL BE NO NEGOTIATIONS, ONLY DEATH.' The City Council has not yet responded."

"Ah," said Nightingale, a contemplative look on his face. "That is a conundrum. The fountain was in fact originally designed to operate on blood, as you know; its creator, a remarkable young lady named Josie, only changed its operation to plasma to meet the contract arranged between the School Board and the Night Vale General Hospital for the remainder of the blood to be on reserve for traffic accidents and vampire tourists."

Peter dropped his head into his hands and tried not to moan in horror too loudly.

"Indeed, Mr. Thomas Nightingale, indeed. As one of the few individuals present for its inauguration who are capable of speech and/or technically alive, we here at Night Vale Community Radio hope you would weigh in on the subject."

"Hmm. Well, without being present or discussing the matter with the City Council and the Glow Cloud, I can only say that the conversion would be feasible with retrofits and a small sacrifice--of the inanimate rather than animate nature--but I would be far more concerned about the wrath of the Chief Physician of the Hospital. Is Grey-eyed Charlie still in that role?"

"No, Mr. Thomas Nightingale, his son Blue-Eyed Charlie succeeded him in the role. Grey-eyed Charlie is in comfortable retirement fishing paint cans from the precarious structure that will one day be the Old Town Drawbridge."

"Mmm, I see. Well, if Blue-eyed Charlie is anything like his father, he will find every reason to enforce the contract between the Hospital and the School Board. The City Council has a poor track record of working with the Hospital; each time they play billiards to determine the Hospital's budget, the City Council ends up with a concussion and the trophy goes to the Chief Physician. In that case, I would encourage the School Board's attorney to consider an amendment to the original contract, providing a portion of the blood to be conditioned for plasma after the fountain is retrofitted. It may take more bloodletting that usual, but I'm sure the students are not suffering from anemia and are up to the task."

"Insightful as usual, Mr. Thomas Nightingale! We here at Night Vale Community Radio thank you for your informed and opportunistic opinion. We must let you go now, as the weather is stormily approaching, but do visit us soon! The town hasn't changed much in the last seventy years, but we do have a pizza restaurant now."

"Thank you, Mr. Palmer. I look forward to speaking with you again." The line cut, and Mr. Thomas Nightingale--er, just Nightingale returned the headset to its cradle. 

"Bit of a headache there, Peter?" Nightingale asked, slight concern in his voice.

Peter raised his head from his hands and asked, "What's Night Vale?"

"It is a town," Nightingale said, standing from his chair and headed towards the door, "in the American southwest, near Desert Bluffs. My, all that talking has given me a thirst. I'm going to see Molly about some tea--would you care for a cuppa?"

"I'm okay," Peter croaked, and slumped back into his chair, dazed.

}-{

[TLF Travel Alerts](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/650671246561144832) @TlfTravelAlerts  
 _Congratulations to everyone's favourite terrifying chasm of formless negative space, The Gap, for being September's employee of the month._

}-{

"And you see, Peter," Nightingale said, carefully moving Peter's arms into the right place, "you must not only hold the _forma_ stiffly in your mind, you must also grasp the _space_ in which you want your action to take place. It's not enough to simply direct an action, at least not once you begin these compound spells. You must cultivate an awareness of the whole _locus_ you are working within."

Peter could feel the sweat dripping down his face. He was nearly vibrating with concentration, and the feel of Nightingale's fingers on his skin were like bright points of electricity: his magic touching Nightingale's, momentarily brilliant. 

Nightingale stepped back. "Now, Peter, hold the _locus_ in your mind, conceive the _forma_ , and let fly---"

"Impello lactus!" Peter bellowed, and the tennis ball went flying across the room and hit the makeshift target dead-on. Peter let out a whoop of joy and crushed Nightingale in a hug, only stepping away when he realized that Nightingale was awkwardly clapping him on the back. He was abruptly embarrassed, but covered it with bravado.

"I got it! I bloody well got it," Peter said, reaching for the Lucozade and downing half of it in one go. He wiped his forehead with his t-shirt and looked up to see Nightingale watching him intently. Peter let his shirt drop and shifted. 

"Yes," Nightingale said. "That was excellent work. I'm pleased to see you are grasping these alternate applications of second order _forma_ \--it's necessary to advance further and, of course, far more useful when doing field work."

"That took it right out of me, though. I suppose it'll get easier over time."

"It will," Nightingale said, looking at the far wall and the tank tape fashioned into three concentric circles. He turned back to Peter and smiled. "Now do it again. Three more times, then we'll call it an end."

Peter groaned, wiped the sweat from his brow, stretched out his shoulders, and stood back on his mark. 

"You need a slight adjustment--" Nightingale said, and carefully positioned Peter again. 

Peter grinned where Nightingale couldn't see.

}-{

[TLF Travel Alerts](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/641334549822181376) @TlfTravelAlerts _Why oh why did they do it? Desperately they try to close the doors again, but there are too many. And besides, it has already escaped._

}-{

"Stand at the ready!" Nightingale shouted across the platform. Peter started to generate the _forma_ in his head, hands moving assuredly into a defensive position as passengers streamed in panic into the lobby of St Pancras. 

"Bring it down!" Peter shouted back, pulling the steel ball from his pocket and laying it at his feet. It started to vibrate between his trainers, and Peter eyed the ceiling for any sign of the gargoyle. If only they couldn't turn the color of whatever material they were attached too--already a menace, no need to be a bloody chameleon as well. 

There was a sudden blast in the bricks, and a reddish brown creature tumbled into the open air. 

"Peter!" Nightingale yelled.

"I got him!" Peter yelled back, and with a grunt, a push, and a loud "Impello lactus!" the steel ball went flying and hit the gargoyle with a sickening crunch. 

"He's coming down!" Peter yelled at Nightingale, running towards the falling creature. He arrived just in time to watch the final descent of the thing, and he was already readying another _forma_ when he realized he didn't' see where the ball came down. 

He looked up. "Oh, fu--" and everything went black.

}-{

[TLF Travel Alerts](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/632222537708126208) @TlfTravelAlerts   
_It's all about branding, you see. 'Soul Harvesters' just don't sound very nice, but call them 'Oyster card readers' and nobody questions it._

}-{

Peter woke at the Folly with Dr. Walid standing over him, shining a light into his eyes.

He said "Stoppit," hearing the whine in his own voice and not giving a bleeding fuck because his head _hurt_. It hurt worse than any stupid _forma_ had. 

"Ah, Peter, welcome again to the living," came Dr. Walid's pleasant, amused voice. Peter took the pillow under his head and held it over his head; the light from the room was terrible. 

"Thomas, why don't you turn off the lights," Dr. Walid said to Nightingale, and a moment later sweet blessed darkness filled the room. 

"Augh," Peter said when he removed the pillow from his head, and Dr. Walid took that as an invitation to talk more. 

"You almost certainly have a concussion, my friend," he said, "and quite the knot on top of your skull. The bruises are forming, of course, and until we know more it's hard to tell the severity of your concussion nor the symptoms you may experience. I am not a physician," Dr. Walid said pointedly, though it didn't appear to be towards Peter. "You will need to go to hospital, sooner rather than later, preferably A&E as soon as you're able to move. I can call an ambulance--"

"No," Peter gritted out. "I'm not going in a bloody ambulance because I got hit on the head. It would get back to the station, and I'd never hear the end of it."

Dr. Walid tilted his head and said, "As you wish. Nonetheless, I will escort you there to provide details to the attending physician, and perhaps get things moving a little faster. Your uniform coat is on the chair, and I suspect that will help things along as well." He wrote something down on the clipboard in his hand, and said, "I'll just go call the hospital in advance, see if they can meet us at the door. Try to think healthy thoughts, Peter."

With that he left, and Peter dared to open his eyes a little wider as the crack of the door illuminated the room without stabbing his eyes as badly as before. Nightingale was in a corner, looking pale and sitting in a chair, hands clasped together in what Peter had come to recognize as his nervous gesture. 

"You alright, Governor?" Peter asked weakly. 

"Oh, Peter," Nightingale said mournfully. "Watching you crumple to the floor was awful. You must never do it again."

"Right, I'll get on that," Peter said, laying his pounding head back on the pillow. "Did we catch the thing, anyway?"

"Yes, of course," Nightingale said as if that were obvious. "We had a very heated chat, and I saw Wilmot to the Chunnel train. Apparently he had run away from home, something to do with his parents preventing him from hanging in his favored spot. All very mundane, really, except for the property damage. And you, of course."

"Of course," Peter echoed. 

Nightingale seemed to hesitate before he said, "You did well with your _forma_ , but it seems we will need to work more on your spatial awareness."

Peter started to chuckle, which grew into a laugh, which hurt like fuck so he stopped as swiftly as he had started. "Nightingale, so help me, I am taking a _break_ from _forma_ until at least this headache stops. Probably longer. It's bad enough I risk my brain coming out my ears with spelling, no reason to hurry it along with bonus concussion." It was a little snipey, but Peter said it with as much affection as he could muster. He did love the spelling. 

"Right, of course," Nightingale said softly. "Peter."

"Yeah?" Peter said, closing his eyes again. 

"You may call me Thomas, if you wish."

Peter opened his eyes again, wincing. Nightingale was looking at him with apprehension and affection all in one. It was...weird, thinking of calling his Guv by his first name. But weird was becoming the everyday. This barely blipped the radar. 

"Okay," Peter said, "Thomas. But I'm not using it around other police. No need to bring further awkward into the Folly's relations with other departments."

Nightingale--Thomas--smiled in acknowledgement. Suddenly sirens pierced the air and Peter flinched. Thomas frowned. 

"That pious bastard," Peter grumbled unkindly, "he called the ambulance after all. I'm never going to hear the bloody end of this one."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. [TlfTravelAlerts](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts) gives me so much joy it should be illegal. All links go to the original tweets. 
> 
> 2\. The title is from [this tweet](https://twitter.com/TlfTravelAlerts/status/627160162348978176):  
> TLF Travel Alerts @TlfTravelAlerts  
> They have come. And as ever we are unprepared. You would do well to hide, commuters. Severe delays on all lines due to Flying Ant Day.
> 
> 3\. For those unfamiliar, [Welcome to Night Vale](http://www.welcometonightvale.com/) is a documentary about a delightful desert community in the American Southwest. Night Vale Community Radio is committed to documenting all of Night Vale's events and ritual cullings with profound, somewhat hysterical programmatic coverage. Support NVCR today with your small donation of your beating heart; or, for $25, you'll get [a complimentary mug](https://www.topatoco.com/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=TO&Product_Code=CPB-NVCR-MUG-BLACK&Category_Code=CPB) and the Prozac-like experience of joy not unlike that of eating bleu cheese. 
> 
> 4\. [Gargoyles are really serious about family.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gargoyle_clan)
> 
> 5\. Tank tape is what the colonists call [duck tape](http://www.ducktapecolours.co.uk/).


End file.
